Bed-Rest Is Recommended
by SOthisIStheHOBBIT
Summary: Thorin is a terrible patient. (Bagginsheild fluff) FIXED!


Don't scratch, Thorin."

"But it itches."

"I know, but you mustn't scratch."

"It itches."

Bilbo let out a long sigh and caught Thorin's hand as it travelled up to scratch the red angry spots covering his face, and neck.. and back. More or less his whole body was covered.

He had contracted a disease from the men of lake town, something they called 'chicken pox' luckily it was not life threatening, but was incredibly unpleasant all the same.

Thorin did not usually fall ill to things such as this, he was a hardy dwarf. But he was not at his full strength on account of him only just recovering from his injuries endured from his spar with the now dead Smaug and the harsh continuing snow.

The king huffed, feeling pretty miserable. He was hot and tired, and everything itched. He itched it places he didn't know could itch.

Oin had taken one look at him and sent Thorin to his chambers and proscribed strict bed rest, and regular doses of his awful home made tonic. It cured most ills, but it looked foul and tasted worse.

Thankfully, this 'chicken pox' was also known to hobbits, and Bilbo himself had suffered it as a child, so he knew how the sickness would play out and the best way to treat it.

"Your rather unlucky." Bilbo commented, as he watched Oin fuss over the king. "Most folk get Chicken pox when they're children, its very common, and very contagious. Anyone who hasn't had it could easily catch it from you. That includes you Oin."

Oin chuckled. "Well, my work here is done for the day, so I'll leave you in his capable hands Master Baggins." he then left Bilbo some instructions, and with a nod to Thorin, went on his way.

That was two hours ago, and Thorin had been steadily feeling worse. If that was at all possible.

"Mahal save me... what even is this illness..." he groaned from the bed.

Bilbo kindly brushed a strand of hair of Thorin's face. "Just try and rest and - Thorin! what did I say about scratching?"

"Hmmph. You say this is a childhood disease?"

"Oh yes. Most faunts get it in infancy. Its better that way really."

The king rolled over onto his belly. "How?"

"Children, I find, have the amazing ability to bounce right back after being ill, no skin off their little noses." he looked worriedly at Thorin. "Do you want a wash cloth? it might cool you down a bit."

"I'm not a babe." the king grumbled.

The hobbit rolled his eyes. "Come on, your burning up. You won't even have to get up, I can-"

"No."

Bilbo huffed and put his hands on his hips. "Stop being difficult, you have a fever-"

"I am very aware of that, Halfling." Thorin growled into his pillow.

"I have a name, dwarf." snapped the hobbit. "Please use it."

They lulled into an awkward silence, and Thorin could hear Bilbo shifting.

"Lets not quarrel, Thorin." he said softly. "Besides, I can't really stay angry at you when you're in this state."

Thorin glared at Bilbo over his shoulder. "I don't want your pity."

"I'm not pitying you. I'm just trying to help."

The king sighed. Bilbo was a kind soul, too kind really, and much too decent to be stuck nursing someone like himself. He could be in the library reading, or exploring Erebor and instead he was here... with Thorin.

"You do not have to be here, hobbit." Rumbled the king.

"Oh your not getting rid of me that easily." Smirked Bilbo. "Besides, someone has got to be here to – THORIN OAKENSHEILD! Stop scratching!"

"I can't help it."

"Well, you must try."

"Why?" demanded Thorin.

Bilbo patiently crossed his arms. "Because. You'll get an infection, then you'll scar."

The king snorted. "I have scars a plenty, Master Baggins, a few more would hardly make a difference."

The hobbit glared. "If you don't stop, I'll be forced to put gloves on you."

Thorin flopped down on his nest of blankets and sulked. "Are all of your kind so cruel?"

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Stop being such a drama king. Oh! That reminds me-" He turned about and picked up the bottle containing Oin's tonic. Thorin groaned inwardly, he knew what was coming next.

The hobbit hmmed a little ditty as he filled a large spoon with Oin's nasty medicine, it was a ghastly greenish brown and was thick and slimy. It made the king gag just looking at it. Worse, it smelled like fish.

"I don't need... that stuff." Thorin said pointedly as Bilbo turned to face him.

"Don't be silly, of course you do."

"Its foul."

"It'll make you feel better."

Thorin wrinkled his nose. "I highly doubt it."

Bilbo narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Yes it will, and you are going to take it."

The king sent the hobbit a glare of his own. "And how, exactly, are you going to make me?"

Bilbo grinned a very evil grin and said in an unnaturally pleasant voice "I just call Oin back in here and tell him about you acting like a child and refusing to take your medicine, and I'm sure he could think of another way for you to take it... if not orally... then maybe in some other way."

Ah.

The King blinked a few times as he processed the threat, then grumbled out "Very well."

Bilbo looked far too pleased for his own good and pushed the spoon towards Thorin's face. The king winced when he smelt it and had to take a deep breath before opening his mouth.

It taste was... just horrible, and the king almost spat it out as soon as it went it. It took all his strength to swallow it.

"There." Bilbo chirped. "Was that so bad?"

"That was vile."

"Yes, well, you'll feel better now."

As the hobbit spoke, Thorin became aware of the fact that he was suddenly tired, and it was an effort to keep his eyelids from closing. Oin's tonic was already working on him, and, to be honest, he wasn't that perturbed.

A peaceful rest might not be such a bad idea.

The king shuffled around until he was comfortable, with his belly and head cushioned by the pillows of his bed.

He began to drift, and he felt a small, cool hand on the small of his back; it rubbed lightly at his skin.

"Sleep well, Thorin."


End file.
